The Secrets of Hermione Granger
by siriuslyholly
Summary: Hermione is like any other witch in the world. She has a few little secrets. Secrets from her mother, from her boyfriend, from her colleagues, secrets she wouldn't share with anyone... until she spills them all to a stranger on a plane. At least, she thought it was a stranger. DRAMIONE. IF HARRY POTTER WAS A CHICK-FLICK... HP VERSION OF 'CAN YOU KEEP A SECRET' BY SOPHIE KINSELLA
1. Chapter 1

Hermione Granger had secrets.

Of course she did; everyone had a few. It was completely normal and she was certain that she didn't have any more than anybody else.  
They weren't big, earth-shattering secrets or the type of secret that would affect the world in any way, but normal, everyday little secrets.

Like, for example, a few random secrets off the top of her head were:

1. Her wand didn't break in a chase to catch a dark wizard. She sat on it.  
2. She loved sweet sherry, the least distinguished drink in the world.  
3. She didn't wear a size S robe like her boyfriend thought; she was more of an M (although, in her defence, she was planning on going on a diet when she told him that).  
4. She disliked ginger hair.  
5. Sometimes, when she was in the middle of passionate sex, she suddenly had the urge to laugh.  
6. She lost her virginity in her boyfriend's childhood bedroom and she was more interested in the Chudley Cannons pin-up Chaser, Dominic Firewood.  
7. She had already drunk the wine that her father had told her to lay down for twenty years.  
8. Her mum's goldfish wasn't the same goldfish that she told Hermione to look after six months ago.  
9. When her colleague, Marietta, annoyed her, she fed her exotic plant alcohol and it had never been the same.  
10. She once had a weird lesbian dream about Ginny.  
11. Her underwear was hurting her.  
12. She had always felt a deep down conviction that there was an exciting new life waiting for her just around the corner.  
13. She had no idea what the man in the grey suit was talking about.  
14. She had also forgotten his name.

And she had only met him ten minutes ago.

"We believe in logistical, formative alliances," he was saying in a nasal, droning voice, "both above and below the line."  
"Absolutely!" Hermione replied brightly, as though to say, "Doesn't everybody?"  
What was he talking about?  
What if they asked her?  
_Don't be stupid, Hermione_, she thought. _They won't suddenly demand, "What did I just say?" I'm a fellow marketing professional, aren't I? Obviously I know these things._  
The important thing for her to do was to keep acting confident and business-like. She could do it. It was her big chance and she wasn't about to screw it up.

She was sitting in the offices of Ogden's headquarters in Scotland and, as she glanced at her reflection in the window, she thought she looked like a top businesswoman. Her hair was straightened, she was wearing discreet earrings like she was told to in a _Witch Weekly _article and she had on her smart new robes. Well, they were almost new. She had bought them from a second-hand shop in Diagon Alley and only had to fix a little hole.

She was there to represent the Magpie Corporation, which was where she worked. The meeting was to finalise a promotional arrangement between the new Magpie Favourite-Flavour alcoholic drink and Ogden's and she had flown up from London on Muggle transport especially.  
When she had arrived, the Ogden's Marketing committee had started on a long, show-offy 'who's-travelled-the-most?' conversation about Portkeys and Floo powder and she thought she had bluffed pretty convincingly, except when she said she'd used an international Portkey from Ottawa to Scotland and it turned out that it wasn't possible. The truth was that the meeting was the first time she'd ever had to travel for a deal.

She'd never done a deal before, full stop. She'd been at Magpie for eleven months as a Marketing Assistant and, until then, she'd only ever been allowed to write out and copy, arrange meetings for other people, get the sandwiches and pick up her bosses' children from the childminder.  
It was her big break. She had a secret hope that if she did it well, she would get promoted. The advertisement for her job had said 'possibility of promotion after one year' and on Monday she was having her yearly appraisal with her boss, Paul. She had looked up 'appraisals' in her Staff Induction Handbook and it had said that they were 'an ideal opportunity to discuss possibilities for career advancement'. Career advancement! At the thought, Hermione felt a familiar stab of longing in her chest. It would show her father that she wasn't a complete failure. And her mother. And Marietta. If she could go home and casually say, "By the way, I've been promoted to Marketing Executive..."

_Hermione Granger, Marketing Executive.  
Hermione Granger, Senior Vice-President (Marketing)._

As long as everything went well. Paul had said that the deal was done and dusted and that all she had to do was nod and shake their hands and even _she_ would be able to manage it. So far, it was going smoothly. So she didn't listen to about ninety percent of what they were saying, but she nodded a lot and smiled.  
"Rebranding... analysis... cost effective..."  
The man in the grey suit was still droning on about something. As casually as possible, Hermione extended her hand and inched his business card towards her so she could read it.  
Doug Hamilton. That was easy to remember. Doug. Dug. She could picture a shovel. Together with a _ham_. Which... which looked _ill_... and...  
She could just write it down.  
Hermione hastily scrawled 'rebranding' and 'Doug Hamilton' on her parchment and gave an awkward wriggle. Her knickers were really uncomfortable. Granted, G-strings were never _that_ comfortable at the best of times in her opinion, but hers were particularly bad. It could have been because they were a size too small.  
Ron had bought them for her, and had told the Lingerie Assistant that she wore robe size small. Whereupon she told him that Hermione must be a size extra-small in knickers.  
Frankly, Hermione thought that the assistant was being mean. She must have known that Hermione was lying.  
It was Christmas morning, and she and Ron were exchanging presents, and she unwrapped a pair of gorgeous pale pink silk knickers. Size extra-small. They were so posh that they had anti-alteration charms in place. She had two options:

A: Confess the truth. "Actually, these are too small, I'm more of a small or a medium," or...  
B: Shoe-horn herself into them.

Actually, it was fine. The red marks on Hermione's hips were hardly visible afterwards. It only meant that she had to alter the labels on all of her underwear so that Ron wouldn't realise.  
Since then, Hermione had hardly ever worn that particular set of underwear, but every so often she saw them looking so nice and expensive in the drawer and thought, _Oh come on, they're not _that_ tight_, and she would somehow squeeze herself into them, which is what she had done that morning. She had even decided that she must have lost weight, because they hadn't felt too bad.  
She was such a deluded idiot.

"...unfortunately, since rebranding... major rethink... feel we need to be considering alternative synergies..."  
Up until then, Hermione had just been sitting and nodding, thinking that the business-meeting lark was really easy, but Doug's voice was starting to impinge on her consciousness. What was he saying?  
"... two products diverging... becoming incompatible..."  
What was that about incompatible? What was that about a major rethink? Hermione suddenly felt a jolt of alarm. Maybe it wasn't just waffle. Maybe he was actually _saying_ something. She used to be good at listening to speeches. What happened?  
"We appreciate the functional and synergetic partnership that Magpie and Ogden's have enjoyed in the past," Doug was saying, "but you'll agree that clearly we're going in different directions."  
Different directions? Is that what he had been talking about for all of that time?  
Hermione's stomach gave an anxious lurch. Was he trying to pull out of the deal?  
"Excuse me, Doug," she said in her most relaxed voice. "Obviously I was following what you were saying earlier." She gave a friendly, we're-all-professionals-together smile. "But if you could just... um, recap the situation for all of our benefits...?"  
Doug and the other man exchanged glances.  
"We're a little unhappy about your brand values," said Doug.  
"My brand values?" Hermione echoed in panic.  
"The brand values of the _product_," he said, giving Hermione an odd look. "As I've been explaining, we here at Ogden's are going through a rebranding process at the moment and we see our new image very much as a caring, family company, as the new logo demonstrates. We feel that Magpie, with its emphasis on new gadgets, alcoholic beverages and Pepper-Up potion snacks are simply too modern and aggressive."  
"Aggressive?" Hermione stared at him, bewildered. "But... it's a drink."  
It made no sense. Ogden's was a beer belly-creating Whiskey company. Favourite Flavour was a fun, albeit slightly alcoholic drink. How could it be too aggressive?  
"The values it espouses." Doug gestured to the marketing brochures on the table. "Elitism. Masculinity. The slogan. Frankly, it seems a little dated. It's 2004." He shrugged. "We just don't think a joint initiative will be possible."  
It couldn't be happening. He couldn't be pulling out. Everyone at the office would think it was Hermione's fault. They would think she messed it up and that she was completely rubbish at everything.  
Hermione's heart was thumping and her face was hot. She couldn't let it happen. But what could she say? She hadn't prepared anything. Paul had said that it was all set up and all she had to do was shake their hands.  
"We'll certainly discuss it again before we make a decision," Doug was saying. He gave Hermione a brief smile. "And, as I say, we would like to continue links with Magpie, so this has been a useful meeting in any case."  
He was pushing the chair back.  
She couldn't let it slip away! She had to try and win them round. She had to try and close the deal.  
"Wait!" Hermione heard herself say. "Just... wait a moment. I have a few points to make."  
What was she talking about? She had _no_ points to make.  
There was a sample bottle of Favourite-Flavour sitting on the desk and Hermione grabbed it for inspiration. Playing for time, she stood up, walked to the centre of the room and raised the bottle high into the air so everyone could see it.  
"Favourite-Flavour is... an alcoholic beverage."  
She stopped and there was a polite silence. Her face prickled.  
"It... um... It is very..."  
_What am I doing? Come on, Hermione. Think!  
_"Since the launch of the Magpie Corporation in 1999, Magpie products have been a byword for energy, excitement and fun," Hermione said fluently.  
That was the standard marketing blurb for Magpie Corporation. She had written it out so many times that she could recite it in her sleep.  
"Magpie products are a marketing phenomenon," she continued. "The Magpie character is one of the most widely recognised in the Wizarding world, whilst the classic slogan has made it into our dictionaries. We are now offering Ogden's an exclusive opportunity to join with this premium, world-famous brand."  
Her confidence growing, she started to stride around the room, gesturing with the bottle.  
"By buying an Ogden's-endorsed Magpie product, the consumer is signalling that he will settle for nothing but the best." She hit the bottle sharply with her other hand. "He expects the best from his Magpie product, he expects the best from his Ogden's product, he expects the best from himself."  
If Paul could see her now, he would give her a promotion on the spot!  
Hermione walked over to the desk and looked Doug Hamilton in the eye. "When the Magpie consumer opens this bottle, he is making a choice which tells the world who he is. I'm asking Ogden's to make that choice."  
As Hermione finished speaking, she planted the bottle firmly in the middle of the desk, reached for her wand and, with a cool smile, tapped the bottle top with it.

It was like a volcano erupting.

Fizzy alcohol exploded in a whoosh out of the bottle, landing on the desk, drenching the parchment and quills in lurid pink liquid and splattering all over Doug Hamilton's shirt.  
"Fuck!" Hermione gasped. "I mean, I'm so sorry..."  
"Shit!" Doug said irritably, standing up and retrieving his wand from his pocket. "Will this come off with _Scourgify_?"  
"Er..." Hermione grabbed the bottle helplessly. "I don't know. Try _Evanesco_?"  
"I'll do it," said the other man, who leapt to his feet.  
There was a silence as the mess was cleaned up magically, apart from the sound of fizzy drink dripping slowly into the floor.  
Hermione stared at Doug Hamilton, her face hot and blood throbbing through her ears.  
"Please," she said, clearing her husky throat, "don't tell my boss."

After all of that, Hermione had messed it up.  
As she dragged her heels across the concourse at Edinburgh airport, she felt completely dejected. Doug Hamilton had been quite sweet in the end. He had said he was sure the stains on his robe would come out and promised he wouldn't tell Paul what had happened. However, he didn't change his mind about the deal.

Her first big meeting, her first big chance... and that was what happened. She felt like giving up on the whole thing. She felt like Floo calling the office and saying, "That's it, I'm never coming back again and by the way, it was me who stole the pumpkin pasties every Monday."  
But she couldn't. It was her fourth career in almost five years. It _had_ to work. She also owed Harry four hundred galleons.  
"So, what can I get you?" an Australian man asked and Hermione looked up dazedly. She had arrived at the airport with an hour to go and had headed straight for the bar.  
"Erm..." Her mind had gone blank. "Er... white wine. No, actually, a vodka and tonic. Thanks."  
As he moved away, Hermione slumped in her stool. An Air Hostess with a French plait came and sat down two stools away from her. She smiled at Hermione and Hermione smiled weakly in return.

She didn't know how other people could manage their careers. Like Harry. He had always known that he wanted to be an Auror, so he became an Auror. Hermione had left Hogwarts (after repeating her seventh year) with no clue. Her first job was at the Ministry in 1999, in a small department, trying to start S.P.E.W again, but she couldn't find anyone besides Ron, Ginny and Harry who were interested. So, after six months, in April 2000, she announced that she was changing careers and she was going to be an Auror instead. It had felt like such a fantastic moment, like she was in a film. Harry had loaned her money for the training and she was going to launch into a new career which was going to be the start of her new life.

Except it didn't quite happen like that.

Even after the war, Hermione hated fighting. She'd try and avoid conflict and would shy away from using harmful jinxes. After a few short months, she was told she wasn't cut out for being an Auror.

Her third career was in the Wizengamot, which she started in October 2000. She found it dull. She would also find it hard to leave her personal experience of the war out of her professional life, which led to disagreements and a mutual decision to leave just seven months later.

Hermione heaved a heavy sigh, and stared dolefully at her reflection in the mirror behind the bar. As well as everything else, her hair, which she had carefully controlled with serum and Muggle hair straighteners as well as a Glamour charm, had gone frizzy.

Meanwhile, Hermione got into more and more debt and started temping and applying for jobs - both Muggle and Wizarding. Eventually, in March 2003, eleven months ago, she had started work as a Marketing Assistant for the Magpie Corporation.

The barman placed a vodka and tonic in front of her and gave her a quizzical look. "Cheer up!" he said. "It can't be that bad!"  
"Thanks," Hermione replied gratefully, and took a sip. It made her feel slightly better. She was just taking a second sip when her mobile began to ring. The only people who called her on her mobile were her parents, her grandfather, Harry and occasionally Ginny.  
"Hi," Hermione greeted after pressing the green button.  
"Hiya Hermione!" came Ginny's voice. "Only me. So, how did it go?"  
Ginny and Harry were living with her and was the best girl-friend she could possibly wish for.  
"It was a disaster," Hermione replied miserably.  
"What happened? Didn't you get the deal?"  
"Not only did I not get the deal, I drenched the Marketing Director of Ogden's in alcohol." Along the bar, Hermione felt the Air Hostess looking at her.

"Oh dear." She could almost _feel_ Ginny trying to think of something positive to say. "Well, at least you got their attention," she said at last. "They won't forget you in a hurry."  
"I suppose," Hermione said morosely. "Did I have any post?"  
"Erm... Ron owled from the Ministry to see how you got on. He was really sweet for once; he said he didn't want to call you in case he disturbed you."  
Hermione ignored the fact that Ron couldn't use a phone. "Really?"  
For the first time that day, she felt a lift in spirits.  
Ron. Her boyfriend. Her lovely, thoughtful boyfriend.  
"He's such a girl sometimes," Ginny was saying. "He said he was all tied up in a big Auror meeting all afternoon, but he's cancelled his Quidditch game especially, so did you want to go out for dinner tonight?"  
"Oh," Hermione said, with a flicker of pleasure. "Oh, well, that'll be nice. Thanks, Gin."  
She hung up and took another sip of Vodka, feeling a little cheerier.  
Her boyfriend.  
And not just any boyfriend. A tall, funny, successful boyfriend, whom _Witch Weekly_ had called 'number four' in the 'most influential people under thirty' list.

Hermione sat nursing her vodka, allowing thoughts of Ron to roll around her brain and comfort her. The way his ginger hair shone in the sunshine and the way he was always positive. And the way he tried to use a computer without her asking. It wasn't his fault it blew up. And the way he... he...  
Her mind had gone blank. That was ridiculous; there were so many wonderful things about Ron. From his... long limbs and his broad shoulders. To the way he looked after her when she had the flu. How many boyfriends did that?  
She was lucky, she really was.  
She put the phone away, ran her fingers through her hair and glanced at the clock behind the bar. Forty minutes. Not long to go. Nerves were starting to creep over her like insects and she took a deep gulp of vodka, draining her glass.  
_It'll be fine,_ Hermione reassured herself. _I'll be fine. I'm not frightened._

15. She was scared of flying.

She had never told anyone that. Mainly because most people she encountered wouldn't know what an aeroplane was. It wasn't like she couldn't _get_ on a plane, it was just... all things being equal, she would prefer to be on the ground.  
She knew you had less chance of a plane crash than a car crash and all the other completely non-reassuring facts about flying, but she still didn't like it. Maybe she should have another vodka.

By the time her flight was called, Hermione had drunk two more vodkas and was feeling a lot more positive about the meeting. Ginny was right, at least she had made a lasting impression.  
As she strode towards the gate, clutching her briefcase, she almost started to feel like a confident businesswoman again. A couple of Muggles smiled at her as they passed, and Hermione smiled broadly back, feeling a warm glow of friendliness. The world felt better.  
She reached the entrance to the plane and, there at the door taking boarding passes was the Air Hostess with the French plait who was sitting at the bar.  
"Hello again," Hermione slurred, smiling. "What a coincidence!"  
The Air Hostess stared at her.  
"Hi, erm..."  
"What?"  
Why did she look embarrassed?  
"Sorry, it's just... did you know that...?" She gestured awkwardly to Hermione's front.  
"What is it?" Hermione asked pleasantly. She looked down and froze, aghast.  
Somehow her silky blouse had unbuttoned as she had been walking along, exposing three buttons worth of bra and flesh. Her pink lacy bra. The one that had gone bobbly with age.  
That was why people were staring at her. Not because the world was a nice place, but because she was pink bobbly bra woman.  
"Thanks," Hermione muttered, doing up the buttons with fumbling fingers, her face hot with humiliation.  
"It hasn't been your day, has it?" the Air Hostess said sympathetically, holding out a hand for Hermione's boarding pass. "Sorry. I couldn't help overhearing earlier."  
"That's all right." Hermione raised a half-smile. "No, it hasn't been the best day of my life." There was a short silence where the Air Hostess studied the boarding pass.  
"Tell you what," she said in a low voice. "Would you like an on-board upgrade?"  
"A what?" Hermione stared blankly at her.  
"Come on. You deserve a break."  
"Really? But... can you just upgrade people like that?"  
"If there are spare seats, we can. We use our discretion. Plus, this flight is so short." She gave Hermione a conspiring smile. "Don't tell anyone, okay?"  
She led Hermione to the front section of the plane and gestured to a wide, comfortable seat. She had never been upgraded before and couldn't quite believe that she was allowed to be there.  
"Is this First Class?" Hermione whispered, taking in the luxurious atmosphere. A man in a suit was looking out of the window to her right, and two elderly women in the corner were plugging themselves into headsets.  
"Business Class. There's no First Class on this flight." She lifted her voice to normal volume. "Is everything okay for you?"  
"It's perfect! Thanks very much."  
"No problem." She smiled again and walked away and Hermione pushed her briefcase under the seat in front.  
It really was lovely. Big wide seats, footrests. It was going to be a completely pleasurable experience from start to finish. She reached for her seatbelt and buckled it nonchalantly, trying to ignore the flutters of apprehension in her stomach.  
"Would you like some champagne?"  
It was the Air Hostess, beaming down at her.  
"That would be great," Hermione said. "Thanks!"  
"And for you, sir? Some champagne?"  
The man in the seat next to Hermione's hadn't even looked up yet. He was wearing an all-black suit and was still staring at something outside. As he turned to answer, Hermione saw grey eyes, blonde hair, stubble and a deep frown etched on his forehead.  
"No. Just a brandy. Thanks."  
His voice was dry, a little posh and all too familiar to Hermione... who did that voice belong to?  
No. No, it couldn't be.  
Hermione stared at the man again.  
It was.  
It was Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione didn't like it. She knew it was business class, she knew it was all lovely luxury, but her stomach was still a tight knot of fear.  
Whilst the plane was taking off she had counted very slowly with her eyes closed, which had worked for a while, before she ran out of steam at around three hundred and fifty. She found herself sitting, sipping champagne, reading an article titled 'Thirty Things To Do Before You're Thirty' in _Witch Weekly_, which was bewitched to look like a copy of _Cosmopolitan_. She was trying very hard to look like a relaxed top Marketing Executive, but every tiny sound made her start; every judder made her catch her breath.  
With an outward veneer of calm, she reached for the laminated safety instructions and ran her eyes over them. Safety exits. Brace position. If life jackets were required, the elderly and children would be assisted first.  
Why was she even looking at it? How would it help her by gazing at pictures of little stick people jumping into the ocean whilst their plane exploded behind them? She stuffed the safety instructions quickly back into their pocket and took a gulp of champagne.  
"Excuse me, madam." An air hostess with red curls appeared by her side. "Are you travelling on business?"  
"Yes," Hermione said, smoothing down her hair with a prickle of pride. "Yes I am."  
The air hostess handed Hermione a leaflet entitled 'Executive Facilities', on which there was a photo of businesspeople talking animatedly in front of a board with a wavy graph on it.  
"This is some information about our new Business Class lounge at Gatwick. We provide conference call facilities and meeting rooms, should you require them. Would you be interested?"  
Okay, she was a top businesswoman. She was a top high-flying Business Executive.  
"Quite possibly," Hermione lied, looking nonchalantly at the leaflet. "Yes, I may well use one of these rooms to... brief my team. I have a large team and obviously they need a lot of briefing. On business matters." She cleared her throat. "Mostly... logistical."  
"Would you like me to book you a room now?" asked the air hostess helpfully.  
"Er, no thanks," Hermione said after a pause. "My team is currently at home. I gave them the day off."  
"Right." The air hostess looked a little puzzled.  
"But another time, maybe," Hermione cut in quickly. "And while you're here - I was wondering, is that sound normal?"  
"What sound?" The air hostess cocked her head.  
"That sound. That kind of… whining, coming from the wing?"  
"I can't hear anything." She looked at Hermione sympathetically. "Are you a nervous flyer?"  
"No!" Hermione said at once, giving a little laugh. "No, I'm not _nervous_, I was just wondering. Just out of interest."  
"I'll see if I can find out for you," she said kindly. "Here you are, sir. Some information about the executive facilities at Gatwick."  
Draco Malfoy took his leaflet wordlessly and put it down without even looking at it. _How rude_, Hermione thought haughtily. The air hostess moved on, staggering a little as the plane bumped.

Why was the plane bumping?

A sudden rush of fear hit Hermione without warning. It was madness, sitting in a big metal box, with no way of escape, thousands and thousands of feet above the ground...  
She couldn't do it on her own. She had an overpowering need to talk to someone; someone reassuring; someone safe.  
Ron.  
Instinctively, Hermione fished out her mobile, but immediately an air hostess swooped down on her.  
"I'm afraid you can't use that on board the plane," she said with a bright smile. "Could you please ensure that it is switched off?"  
"Oh, er, sorry."  
Of course she couldn't use her mobile. They'd only said it about fifty-five billion times. Anyway, never mind, it didn't matter. She was fine. She put her phone away in her bag, and tried to concentrate on something entirely unrelated.  
Maybe she should start counting again.  
_Three hundred and forty-nine. Three hundred and fifty. Three hundred and - _  
Her head jerked up. What was that bump? Did they just get hit?  
_Don't panic, it was just a bump. Everything is fine. We probably just flew into a pigeon or something. Where was I? Three hundred and fifty-one. Three hundred and fifty-two. Three hundred and fifty -_

And that was it.  
That was the moment.  
Everything seemed to fragment.  
Hermione heard the screams like a wave over her head, almost before she realised what was happening. They were falling. Oh, Merlin, they were falling.  
They were plummeting downwards; the plane was dropping through the air like a stone. A man in front of her had just shot up through the air and banged his head on the ceiling. He was bleeding. Hermione was gasping, clutching onto her seat, trying not to do the same thing, but she could feel herself being wrenched upwards, like gravity was suddenly switched the other way. There was no time to think. Her mind couldn't function properly. Bags were flying around, drinks were spilling, one of the Cabin Crew had fallen over; she was clutching at a seat.  
It was slowing down. It... it was better.  
Hermione glanced at Malfoy and was surprised to see that he was grasping his seat as tightly as she was.  
It was almost back to normal now.  
"Ladies and gentlemen," came a voice over the intercom and everyone's head jerked up, "this is your Captain speaking."  
Hermione's heart was juddering in her chest. She couldn't listen. She couldn't think.  
"We are currently hitting some clear-air turbulence and things may be unsteady for a while. I have switched on the seatbelt signs and would ask that you all return to your seats as quickly as -"  
There was another huge lurch and his voice was drowned by screams and cries all around the plane.  
It was like a bad dream. A bad rollercoaster dream.  
The cabin crew strapped themselves into their seats, one of them mopping blood off her face. A minute ago they were happily doling out honey-roasted peanuts.  
It was what happened to other people on other planes. People on safety videos and thriller movies. Not Hermione.  
"Please keep calm," the captain was saying. "As soon as we have more information..."  
Keep _calm_? Hermione couldn't breathe, let alone keep _calm_. What were they going to do? Were they supposed to just _sit_ there while the plane bucked like an out-of-control horse?  
She could hear someone behind her reciting 'Hail Mary, full of grace' and a fresh, choking panic swept through her. People were praying. It was real.  
They were all going to die.  
_We're all going to die._  
"I'm sorry?" Malfoy looked at Hermione, his face tense and even paler than usual.  
Did she just say that aloud?  
"We're going to die." Hermione stared into his eyes. Malfoy could be the last person she ever saw alive. She took in the shallow lines etched around his grey eyes; his defined jaw which was shaded with stubble.  
The plane suddenly dropped down again and she gave an involuntary shriek.  
"I don't think we're going to die," Draco said. But he was gripping his seat-arms, too. "They said it was just turbulence."  
"Of course they did!" Hermione could hear the hysteria in her voice. "They wouldn't exactly say, "Okay everyone, that's it, you're all going to die,' would they?" The plane gave another terrifying swoop and she found herself clutching Malfoy's hand in panic. "We're not going to make it. I know we're not. This is it. I'm twenty-four years old, for God's sake. I'm not ready. I haven't achieved anything. Okay, yes, I fought the war and helped in the downfall of Voldemort but practically every witch and wizard did. I've never had children..." Her eyes fell randomly on the 'Thirty Things To Do Before You're Thirty' article. "I haven't ever climbed a mountain. I haven't got a tattoo, I don't even _know_ if I've got a G-spot."  
"I'm sorry?" Malfoy blurted, sounding taken aback, but Hermione barely heard him.  
"My career is a complete joke. I'm not a top businesswoman at all." She gestured half-tearfully to her suit. "I haven't got a team! I'm just a crappy assistant and I've just had my first ever big meeting and it was a complete disaster. Half the time I haven't got a clue what people are talking about at work, I'm never going to get promoted, I owe Harry two hundred galleons and I've never really been in love."  
She drew herself up short with a jolt. "I'm sorry," she said, exhaling sharply. "You don't want to hear all of this. Especially not from me."

"It's... fine," Malfoy said quietly.  
Merlin, she was completely losing it.  
Anyway, what she had just said wasn't true, because she _was_ in love with Ron. It must have been the altitude or something, confusing her mind.  
Flustered, she pushed the hair off her face and tried to get a hold of herself.  
The plane was lurching again. They were plummeting.  
"I've never done anything to make my parents proud of me." The words came spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "They're Muggles, well, you know that, and I _Obliviated_ them during the war for their own safety, but I couldn't bear to give them back the memory of me sending them off to Australia, so I never told them."  
"I'm sure they'd be proud of you if they knew," Malfoy said unexpectedly.  
"I don't know. Maybe. When they knew what I was getting into, in fifth year, I thought they'd be pleased I was doing something, but it didn't work out like that..."

She couldn't stop talking. She just couldn't stop.  
Every time the plane bumped or jolted, another torrent of words poured randomly out of her mouth, like water gushing over a waterfall.  
It was either talk or scream.

"...Auror training and I honestly thought it would change my life..."  
"...size Small, but I was planning to go on a diet..."  
"...I applied for every single job in the world. I was so desperate, I even applied to..."  
"...awful girl, Marietta. This new desk came the other day, and she just took it, even though I've got this really grotty little desk..."  
"...sometimes I water her stupid plant with alcohol, just to serve her right..."  
"...sweet girl Katie, who works in Personnel. We have this secret code where she comes in and says, "Can I go through some numbers with you, Hermione?" and it really means "Shall we nip out to Broomstix?" You know, the coffee shop..."  
"...awful presents and I have to pretend I like them..."  
"...coffee at work is the most disgusting stuff you've ever drank, absolute poison..."  
"...put Defence Against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T. at Outstanding, when I really only got Exceeds Expectations. I know it was dishonest. I know I shouldn't have done it, but I _so_ wanted to get the job..."

What was happening to her? Normally there was a filter which stopped her from blurting out everything that she was thinking which kept her in check.  
The filter had stopped working. Everything was piling out in a big random stream and she couldn't stop it.

"...wear thongs because they don't show through clothes, but they're so uncomfortable..."  
"...size Extra Small and I didn't know what to do, so I just said, "Wow, those are absolutely fantastic!"..."  
"...roasted peppers, my favourite food..."  
"...I gave him all his goldfish food; I honestly don't know what happened..."  
"...just have to _hear_ Celina Warbeck's song 'Only Wizard For Me' and I start crying..."  
"..._really_ wish I had bigger breasts. I mean, not completely enormous and stupid, but you know, bigger. Just to know what it's like..."  
"...perfect date would start off with champagne just _appearing_ at the table by magic..."  
"...I just cracked, I secretly bought this huge tub of ice cream and scoffed the lot and I never told Ginny..."

She was unaware of anything around her. The world had narrowed down to her and Malfoy, who was practically a stranger, and her mouth, spewing out her innermost thoughts and secrets. She barely knew what she was saying any more. All she knew was that it felt good.

"...his parents were downstairs and I remember thinking, if this is what the world gets so excited about, then the world is mad..."  
"...lie on my side, because that way my cleavage looks bigger..."  
"...works at the Ministry. I remember thinking he was such an idiot and I was friends for him for ages so it was weird at first..."  
"...always have a glass of sweet sherry before going out..."  
"...he's wonderful. He's completely wonderful. I'm so lucky. Everyone is always telling me how great he is. He's sweet, he's good, he's successful and everyone calls us the perfect couple..."  
"...I'd never tell anyone this in a million years. But sometimes I think he's almost _too_ good for me..."

Now she was on the subject of Ron, she was saying things she'd never said to anyone; things she had never even realised were in her head.

"...gave him this lovely leather watch for Christmas, but he wears this weird Quidditch one because it tells him the scores of a match in Poland or something stupid..."  
"...took me to all these Weird Sisters concerts and I pretended to enjoy them to be polite, so now he thinks I love the Weird Sisters..."  
"...just looks at me as though I'm speaking some foreign language..."  
"...determined to find my G-spot, so we spent the whole weekend doing it in different positions and by the end I was so tired, all I wanted was a pizza and wine..."  
"...he kept saying, what was it like, what was it like? So in the end I just made some stuff up; I said it was amazing and it felt as though my whole body was opening up like a flower and he said, "What sort of flower?", so I said a Begonia..."  
"...can't expect the initial passion to last, but how do you tell if the passion's faded in a good, long-term-commitment way or in a crap, we-don't-fancy-each-other-anymore way..."  
"...knight in shining armour is not a realistic option, but there's a part of me that wants a huge, amazing romance. I want passion. I want to be swept off my feet. I want an earthquake, or a... I don't know, a huge whirlwind... something _exciting_. Sometimes I feel as if there's this whole new, thrilling life waiting for me out there and if I can just -"  
"Excuse me, miss?"  
"What?" Hermione looked up dazedly. "What is it?" The air hostess with the French plait was smiling down at her.  
"We've landed."  
Hermione stared at her. "We've _landed_?"  
That didn't make sense. How could they have landed? She looked around and sure enough, the plane was still. They were on the ground.  
She felt like Dorothy. A second ago she was swirling around in Oz, clicking her heels together and suddenly she had woken up all flat and quiet and normal again.  
"We aren't bumping anymore," she said stupidly.  
"We stopped quite a while ago," Malfoy pointed out.  
"We're... not going to die."  
"I hope not."  
Hermione looked at him as though for the first time - and it hit her. She'd been blabbering non-stop for an hour to _Draco Malfoy._ She didn't even remember most of what she had been saying.  
She needed to get off the plane.  
"I'm sorry," she said awkwardly. "You should have stopped me."  
"That would have been difficult," Malfoy said with his trademark smirk on his lips, although it wasn't cold and sneering like it had been at Hogwarts. It seemed warmer and - dare she say it? - friendlier. "You were on a bit of a roll."  
"I'm so embarrassed!" Hermione tried to smile, but she couldn't look him in the eye. She had told him about her knickers. She had told him about her _G-spot_.  
"Don't worry about it, Granger. We were all tense. That was a stressful flight." He picked up his briefcase, got up from his seat and then looked back at Hermione. "Are you okay to Apparate home?"  
"I don't Apparate, Floo or Portkey anywhere now, not since the war. But yes, I'll be fine."  
Malfoy turned to walk off of the plane, but hesitated and turned back. "It was good to see you again, Granger." He walked off without waiting for a response.  
"You too, Malfoy," Hermione called after him, but she didn't think he heard.

Slowly, Hermione gathered her things together and made her way off the plane. She felt sweaty, her hair was all over the place and her head was starting to throb.  
The airport seemed so bright and still and calm after the intense atmosphere of the plane. The ground seemed so firm. She sat quietly on a plastic chair for a while, trying to get herself together but, as she stood up at last, she still felt dazed. She walked along in a slight trance, hardly able to believe she was alive. She honestly never thought she'd make it back on the ground.  
"Hermione!" she heard someone call as she came out of Arrivals. She didn't look up. There was more than one Hermione in the world.  
"Hermione, over here!"  
She raised her head in disbelief. Was that...?  
No, it couldn't be.  
It was Ron.  
He looked heart-breakingly cute. His skin was extra freckly, his jumper made him look cuddly and he was running towards her. That made no sense. What was he doing there? As they reached each other, Ron grabbed her and pulled her tight to his chest.  
"Thank Merlin," he said breathily. "Are you okay?"  
"Ron, what - what are you doing _here_?"  
"I managed to use the phone - with Harry's help, of course - to ask the aeroplane company what time you'd be landing and they told me the plane hit terrible turbulence. I had to come here." He gazed down at Hermione. "Hermione, I watched your aeroplane land, they sent one of them Muggle Healer cars straight out to it. Then you didn't appear. I thought..." He swallowed hard. "I don't exactly know what I thought."  
"I'm fine. I was just... trying to get myself together. Oh, God, Ron, it was terrifying." Hermione's voice was suddenly shaky, which was ridiculous, because she was perfectly safe. "At one point I honestly thought I was going to die."  
"When you didn't come through the barrier..." Ron broke off and stared at Hermione silently for a few seconds. "I think I realised how deeply I felt about you."  
"Really?" Hermione faltered. Her heart was thumping and she thought she might fall over at any moment.  
"Hermione, I think we should..."  
Get married? Her heart jumped in fear. He was going to ask her to marry him, right there in the airport. What would she say? She wasn't ready to get married, but if she declined he would stalk off in a sulk. Maybe she could say, "Gosh, Ron, I need a little time to -"  
"...move in together, in our own place," he finished.  
She was such a deluded moron. Obviously he wasn't going to ask her to _marry_ him.  
"What do you think?" Ron stroked her hair gently.  
"Erm..." Hermione rubbed her dry face, playing for time, unable to think straight. Move in with Ron. It made sense. Was there a reason why not? She felt confused. Something was tugging at her brain, trying to send her a message...  
Into her head slid some of the things she said on the plane. Something about never having been in love. Something about Ron not really understanding her.  
But then... it was just drivel, wasn't it? She thought she was about to die, for goodness sake! She wasn't exactly at her most lucid.  
"Ron, what about your big meeting?" Hermione asked, suddenly recalling.  
"I rescheduled it."  
"You rescheduled?" She stared at him. "For me?"  
She felt really wobbly all of a sudden. Her legs were barely holding herself up. She didn't know if it was the aftermath of the plane journey or love.  
He was tall and he was funny and he had rescheduled a big meeting with the French Aurors in order to come and rescue her.  
It was love, it had to be.  
"I would love to move in with you, Ron," Hermione whispered and, to her astonishment, she burst into tears.

* * *

**A/N: I received a review from 'Bob' saying that this is a copy of 'can you keep a secret' by sophie kinsella - yes it is! it says it is the hp version of it in the description. please read the description before you review with things like this. making muggle books into hp books is a hobby of mine - this is just one of the many i've done. i thought i'd upload this one because it worked quite well as a fanfiction. i have never claimed to be the original author. sophie kinsella owns all copyright etc. i have changed names/tense and added in some magical context. anyway, hope you enjoyed!**


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione woke up the next morning with sunlight dazzling her eyelids and a delicious smell of coffee in the air.  
"Morning!" came Ron's voice from far above.  
"Morning," Hermione mumbled, without opening her eyes.  
"Do you want some coffee?"  
"Yes please."  
She turned over and buried her throbbing head in the pillow, trying to sink into sleep again for a couple of minutes. Usually she would find it very easy, but today something was niggling at her. Had she forgotten something?  
As she half-listened to Ron clattering around in the kitchen and the tinny background sound of the radio, her mind groped blearily around for clues. It was Saturday morning. She was in her bed. They went out for dinner - oh God, that awful plane ride - Ron had come to the airport and he had said...  
They were moving in together.  
Hermione sat up just as Ron came in with two mugs and a muffin on a tray. He was dressed in a white waffle robe and looked sweet. Feeling a slither of pride, Hermione reached over to give him a kiss.  
"Hi," Ron said, laughing. "Careful." He handed her the coffee and muffin. "How are you feeling?"  
"All right." Hermione pushed her frizzy hair back off her face. "A bit groggy."  
"I'm not surprised." Ron raised his eyebrows. "You had quite a day yesterday."  
"Absolutely." Hermione nodded and took a sip of coffee. "So… We're going to move in together!"  
"If you're still up for it?"

"Of course! Of course I am, Ronald." She smiled brightly.  
It was true, she was.  
She felt as though overnight, she had turned into a grown-up. She was moving in with her boyfriend. Finally, her life was going the way it should.  
"You'll have to give Harry, Ginny and Parvati notice." Ron gestured towards the wall, on the other side of which were their flatmates' rooms. "And we'll have to find the right place."  
"And you'll have to promise to keep it tidy!" Hermione gave him a teasing grin.  
"You're the one with all the books!" Ron exclaimed, feigning outrage.  
"That's different!"  
"How is it different?" Ron planted his hand on his hip, like someone in a sitcom, and Hermione laughed.  
There was a pause, as though they had both ran out of steam and they took a sip of coffee.  
"So, anyway," Ron said after a while. "I should get going." He was attending an important meeting at the Auror office that weekend about a new mission. "I'm sorry I'll miss your parents," he added.  
And he really was. If he wasn't already the perfect boyfriend, he actually enjoyed visiting Hermione's Muggle parents.  
"That's fine," Hermione said benevolently. "It doesn't matter."  
"Oh, and I forgot to tell you." Ron gave her a mysterious grin. "Guess what I've got tickets for?"  
"Ooh!" Hermione said excitedly. "Um..."  
She was about to say Paris.  
"The Weird Sisters!" Ron beamed. "The London gig of their tour."  
"Wow!" Hermione managed at last. "The... Weird Sisters."  
"I knew you'd be pleased." Ron touched her arm affectionately and she gave him a feeble smile.  
"Oh, I am!"  
She probably would get to like the Weird Sisters one day. In fact, she was positive that she would.  
She watched fondly as Ron got dressed and slung his bag over his shoulder, just as he used to do at Hogwarts.  
"You wore my present," he said with a pleased smile, glancing at her discarded underwear on the floor.  
"I... often wear them," Hermione lied, crossing her fingers behind her back. "They're so gorgeous!"  
"Have a lovely day with the Muggles." Ron went over to the bed to kiss her and then hesitated. "Hermione?"  
"Yes?"  
He sat down on the bed and gazed seriously at her. His eyes were so beautiful.  
"There's something I wanted to say." He bit his lip. "You know we always speak frankly to each other about our relationship?"  
"Er... yes," Hermione answered, feeling a little apprehensive.  
"This is just an idea. You may not like it. I mean... it's completely up to you."  
Hermione gazed at Ron in puzzlement. The tips of his ears were turning red, a sign of embarrassment.  
Was he going to start getting kinky? Did he want her to dress up in outfits and stuff?  
She wouldn't mind being a sexy Healer, actually. She could get some thigh-high white boots...  
"I was thinking that... perhaps we could..." He stopped awkwardly.  
"Yes?" Hermione put a supporting hand on his arm.  
"We could..." He stopped again.  
"Yes?"  
There was another silence. She almost couldn't breathe. What did he want them to do? What?  
"We could start calling each other 'darling'," he said in an embarrassed rush.  
"What?" Hermione said blankly.  
"It's just that..." Ron's ears tinged even redder. "We're going to be living together. That's quite a commitment. And I noticed recently that we never seem to use any... terms of endearment."  
Hermione stared at him, feeling caught out.  
"Don't we?"  
"No."  
"Oh." She took a sip of coffee. Now she thought about it, he was right. They didn't. Why didn't they?  
"So, what do you think? Only if you want to."  
"Absolutely!" she said quickly. "I mean, you're right. Of course we should." She cleared her throat. "Darling."  
"Thanks, darling," Ron said with a loving smile. Hermione smiled back, trying to ignore the tiny protests inside her head.  
It didn't feel right.  
She didn't feel like a darling.  
Darling was a married person with pearls and a cat.  
"Hermione?" Ron was staring at her. "Is something wrong?"  
"I'm not sure!" She gave a self-conscious laugh. "I just don't know if I feel like a 'darling'. But... you know, it may grow on me."  
"Really?" Well, we can use something else. What about 'dear'?"  
_Dear_?  
"No," she said quickly. "I think 'darling' is better."  
"Or 'sweetheart', 'honey', 'angel'..."  
"Maybe. Look, can we just leave it?"  
Ron's face fell and Hermione felt bad. She could call her boyfriend of five years 'darling' for goodness sake. It was what growing up was all about. She was just going to have to get used to it.  
"Ron, I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe I'm still a bit tense after that flight." She took his hand. "Darling."  
"That's all right, darling." He smiled back at her, his sunny expression restored and gave her a kiss. "See you later."  
Easy Peasy.

Anyway, it didn't matter. She expected all couples had that kind of awkward moment. It was probably perfectly normal.  
It took her half an hour to get up and dressed. As she opened the bedroom door, she found Ginny on the sofa. She was surrounded by parchment and had a frown of concentration on her face. She worked too hard, Ginny. She really overdid it sometimes. "What are you working on?" Hermione asked sympathetically. "That fraud case?"  
"No, it's this article in _Witch Weekly_," Ginny said abstractly, lifting up the glossy magazine. "It says that since the days of Cleopatra, the proportions of beauty have been the same and there's a way to work out how beautiful you are, scientifically. You do all these measurements..."  
"Oh right!" Hermione said interestedly. "So what are you?"  
"I'm just working it out." She frowned at the page again. "That makes fifty-three... subtract twenty... makes... Oh my God!" She stared at the page in dismay. "I only got thirty-three!"  
"Out of what?"  
"A hundred! Thirty-three out of a hundred!"  
"Oh, Ginny. That's rubbish."  
"I know," said Ginny seriously. "I'm ugly, I knew it. You know, all my life I've kind of secretly _known_, but -"  
"No!" Hermione interrupted, trying not to laugh. "I meant the magazine's rubbish. You can't measure beauty with some stupid index. Just _look_ at you!" She gestured to Ginny, who had the prettiest eyes in the world, had gorgeous pale skin and was frankly stunning, even if her hair was blindingly ginger. "I mean, who are you going to believe? The mirror or a stupid mindless magazine article?"  
"A stupid mindless magazine article," said Ginny, as though it were perfectly obvious.  
Hermione knew she was half-joking, but Ginny had really low self-esteem. Especially with a boyfriend as famous as Harry Potter.  
"Is that the golden proportion of beauty?" said their other flatmate Parvati, tapping into the room in her kitten heels. She was wearing tight black trousers and a white shirt and, as usual, she looked perfectly tanned and groomed. In theory, Parvati had a job, working in the beauty salon in Diagon Alley, but all she ever seemed to do was have bits of her waxed and plucked and massaged and go on dates with businessmen, whose salary she always checked out before she said yes.  
Hermione did get on with Parvati. Kind of. It was just that she tended to begin all her sentences "_If_ you want to get a rock on your finger," and "_If_ you want a mansion," and "_If_ you want to be known as a seriously good dinner-party hostess".  
Hermione wouldn't _mind_ being known as a seriously good dinner-party hostess, but it wasn't exactly highest on her list of priorities.  
Plus, Parvati's idea of being a seriously good dinner-party hostess was inviting lots of rich friends over, decorating the whole flat with twiggy things, using charms to cook loads of tiny food and telling everyone she made it herself, then sending her flatmates (Hermione, Harry and Ginny) out to the Leaky Cauldron for the night and looking affronted when they dare creep back in at midnight and make themselves a hot chocolate.  
"I did that quiz," she said, picking up her pink Muggle Louis Vuitton bag. She had acquired a taste for Muggle designers when she had dated a rich Muggle.  
"What did you get?" asked Ginny tentatively.  
"Eighty-nine." She spritzed herself with perfume, tossed her long silky hair back and smiled at herself in the mirror. "So, Hermione, is it true you're moving in with Ron?"  
Hermione gaped at her. "How did you know that?"  
"Word on the street. Seamus owled Dean this morning about work and he told him."  
"Are you moving in with Ron?" asked Ginny incredulously. "Why didn't you tell me?"  
"I was about to, honestly. Isn't it great?"  
"Bad move, Hermione." Parvati shook her head. "Very bad tactics."  
"Tactics?" Ginny snorted. "_Tactics_? Parvati, it's a relationship, not a game of Wizard's chess!"  
"A relationship _is_ a game of chess," retorted Parvati, brushing mascara onto her lashes. "Mummy says you always have to look ahead. You have to plan strategically. If you make the wrong move, you've had it."  
"That's rubbish!" said Ginny defiantly. "A relationship is about like-minds. It's about soulmates finding each other."  
"Soulmates!" said Parvati dismissively and looked at Hermione. "Just remember, Hermione, if you want a rock on your finger, don't move in with Ron." She glanced swiftly to the photograph on the mantelpiece of her meeting Viktor Krum at the Quidditch World Cup.  
"Still holding out for Viktor?" Ginny asked with a laugh.  
"Don't be stupid!" Parvati snapped, colour tinging her cheeks. "You're so immature sometimes, Ginny."  
"Anyway, I don't _want_ a rock on my finger," Hermione retorted. "And Viktor wasn't a very good boyfriend. You're not missing out."  
Parvati raised her perfectly arched eyebrows as though to say, "you poor, ignorant fool," and picked up her bag. "Oh," she added suddenly, her eyes narrowing. "Have any of you borrowed my Joseph jumper?"  
There was a tiny beat of silence.  
"No," Hermione replied innocently.  
"I don't even know which one it is," Ginny said with a shrug.  
Hermione couldn't look at Ginny. She was sure she saw her wearing it the other night.  
Parvati's brown eyes ran over Hermione and Ginny like some kind of radar scanners.  
"I have very slender arms," she said warningly. "Don't think I won't notice if it's been stretched, because I will. Ciao."  
The minute she was gone Ginny and Hermione looked at each other.  
"Shit," Ginny hissed. "I think I left it at work. "Oh well, I'll pick it up on Monday." She shrugged and went back to reading the magazine.  
The truth was that the two women did occasionally borrow Parvati's clothes without asking. In their defence, she had so many that she hardly ever noticed. Plus, according to Ginny, it was a basic human right that flatmates should be able to borrow each other's clothes. She said it was practically part of the British Wizarding Constitution.  
"And anyway," added Ginny, "she owes it to me for writing her that letter to the Ministry about all her overdue payments. You know, she never even said thank you." She looked up from an article on Quidditch players' wives. "So, what are you doing later on? Do you want to go shopping?"  
"I can't," Hermione said reluctantly. "I've got my mum's birthday lunch."  
"Oh, yes, of course." She pulled a sympathetic face. "Good luck. I hope it's okay."  
Ginny was the only person in the world who had any idea about how Hermione felt about visiting home. And even she didn't know it at all.

* * *

**A/N: Hope you liked the chapter. Did you like Ginny being a Magical Lawyer for the Wizengamot? I wonder what Ron's mission will be... and isn't Parvati a biatch?! Don't forget to review! Remember, this fic is the HP version of 'Can You Keep A Secret?' by Sophie Kinsella :3**


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